


An Ineffable Arrangement

by GoblinQueen1221



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Shmoop, This'll get sexy later, my soft bois, smut begins in ch3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-05-07 17:18:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19213990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoblinQueen1221/pseuds/GoblinQueen1221
Summary: In which Aziraphale and Crowley figure out what to do with themselves after Armageddon didn't happen.Fluff ensues.I do not profess to own the characters or the text.





	1. In which tongues are loosened

The problem with Armageddon is that no one had planned for what happens afterward. Especially since this one ended with a fizzle instead of a bang. The preferred ending for most parties, but not nearly as exciting. In the absence of a terrible ending no longer looming over his head, Crowley's schedule was wide open.

This caused some problems and solved many others.

His flat's lease had run out, since he never thought he'd need to renew it, and thus he had done the one thing he usually did when he had free time - he went to annoy Aziraphale.

Not because he felt comfortable in his bookshop.  
Or that he felt comfortable around Aziraphale.  
Or that he liked to watch him putter around the bookshop, the dust motes floating above his head like the halo that Aziraphale kept hidden unless he was angry...  
Oh, no - not at all.  
Just to annoy him.  
Yes, that was it. No comfort involved.

"Comfortable", Crowley muttered, "is such a nasty word."

All the same, he breezed into the shop like it was just another day, plopping himself on one of the couches that Aziraphale had crammed into some of the spaces between bookshelves. Crowley draped himself as elegantly as possible as he could given the space, which made him look rather less languid and more a loose collection of angles. He gave up, settling for sitting upside down.

"Feet off the furniture, my dear boy", murmured Aziraphale as he passed by, tut-tutting at someone looking at some of his rarer books.

Crowley levitated his feet a single millimeter above the chair and waggled his eyebrows, earning an eye roll and tiny smile. Crowley grinned - he could live lik….

Nope. Absolutely not.  
Wasn't allowed.

It took some time for Aziraphale to herd everyone out without them actually taking anything (to their knowledge or not), but as the open sign flipped closed, he turned to look at Crowley from the middle of the shop.

"Are you here to ask me for dinner? The Ritz, perhaps? It'll be just like old times." Aziraphale gave him a hesitant smile, as if he was just unsure about what to do as Crowley was. His brow furrowed. "Although you do usually just call."

"Yeah, I do, but today I guess it was a nice day out and I needed a walk, and I didn't feel like walking in the park alone, and..."

"Crowley?"

"and I felt like I could do a good deal of mischief with all the people out, and..."

"Crowley, is there - ."

"and I just happened to walk by your shop, and…"

"Crowley after six millennia I have gotten fairly proficient at telling when you are trying to not tell me something." Aziraphale said with a snort. "Out with it."

Crowley stopped short, slender hands still in the air where he had been vaguely gesticulating, trying to look like he was making a point.

"Oh. Well. Ahem." Crowley coughed. He hated asking for help. "I've been kicked out of my flat since I let the lease lapse for too long and there's already a family moving in and I have nowhere else to go. But it's really okay since I can live in the Bentley since the back is pretty spacious when you think about it and the boot can fit all my plants and…"

He was babbling again. Idiot.

"Oh dear! Why would you let it lapse like that? It's quite irresponsible." Aziraphale exclaimed. "Although I suppose that would be in your job description" He added, cringing the second the words left his mouth. "S-sorry, dear. I should be more mindful."

Crowley tumbled out of the chair and popped up, a teasing retort on his tongue, but it shriveled as his face fell.  
"I didn't think I'd need it again."

The words fell between them like a knife falling off the counter top to miss your foot by inches.  
A silent beat, and then the realization that death kissed you on the cheek and left the door open.

Crowley started to gesture with his hands, trying to fill the space, but in that same second Aziraphale crossed the difference between them and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"We made it, dear. We did. Us. We won. Our team, remember? I may not have initially liked it but its been us for six millennia, really, and the Universe isn't going to get rid of us that easily. I mean of course, the whole Earth won and I am of course very happy about that as I am charged to love humanity as a whole but that isn't what I mean...oh dear I am certainly babbling" Aziraphale said in a rush, hugging him tighter with each sentence fragment.  
Crowley, having never been hugged before, froze.

He was...warm.

"You can of course stay here, Crowley. Let me go find a bed for you - I am sure I have pillows here somewhere - would you like a spot of tea? I think we should both have some." Aziraphale hurried away, his short steps and reddening ears betraying his sense of calm.

Crowley just stood there, arms still bunched up by his chest as they'd been crushed between them. Stood in the stillness, listening to someone actually, genuinely care about him, as dust motes danced.

Perhaps comfortable wasn't such a - nope, wait, nope.  
Stop.  
Not allowed.  
They'd take you down there again.  
And you'd be _you_ this time.

And if Upstairs found out...they'd hurt Aziraphale.

And then you'd have nothing.

"Are you coming, Crowley? I found some lovely pillows - I hope they aren't too musty,” Aziraphale called from the upstairs flat.

Crowley, having realized the thoughts in his head, glared at them until they shrunk into the shadowy corner with all the other Aziraphale Thoughts We Do Not Think About Nope Not Now Not Ever.

* * *

Aziraphale tried to busy himself in the banal task of making tea so he wouldn’t think about it.

He had _hugged_ Crowley. _Hugged him_. He could still feel the imprint of his angular body pressed up against his. Heavens, it was like...a breath of fresh air.

Oh, his heart. It was evident Crowley hadn't been hugged before - either that or he very much didn't want a hug.

“I do hope I didn’t cross the line,'' Aziraphale fretted, hands shaking so much that he spilled the tea everywhere.

“So messy in your own home - is this how you balance out being so prim everywhere else?” laughed a voice behind him. Aziraphale ignored the catch in his voice, how close Crowley came. Close. Too close.

“Ah! So sorry. Much my fault. Let’s have some wine, then.” Aziraphale grabbed a bottle out of nowhere and gestured towards a ladder tucked in the corner. “Care to drink on the roof?”  
Crowley shrugged, not going to acknowledge the red on Aziraphale’s face as long as he didn’t acknowledge the red on Crowley’s, and followed him up.

“I didn’t even know you had a roof garden - when did this happen?” Crowley asked incredulously. It was beautiful, lush and green - and a bit impossible, as the entire flat roof had been carpeted in what looked like...clover?

“Ah yes, well...it’s a recent addition” Aziraphale added lightly, “I only just discovered it the other day.” He sat down, leaning back on his elbows, and gestured for Crowley to join. “The view of the stars from here is clearer than it should be too - that young man must have gotten into my head more than I thought” Aziraphale murmured, looking up.

Crowley sat next to him, wiggling his fingers in askance of the now open bottle. Taking a sip, he handed the bottle back and looked up too. They passed the bottle back and forth as the sun set and the stars appeared - just as Aziraphale had said - as clear as if they were in the middle of nowhere.

In fact, sitting down looking at the sky, they might as well be.

“Are you homesick, angel?” Crowley said from beside him, noticing him looking up. The question came out of nowhere so suddenly that Aziraphale looked over, startled, and then back up to the stars. He sat there, thinking for a long time, just passing the bottle back and forth.

“Angel?”

“Ah, yes. I, um. Well,” Aziraphale tipped his head back a bit more “No, not really. Because, well, angels aren’t supposed to have homes, you know? Heaven is just, well, there, and angels are a part of it like sap is part of a tree, so it’s not quite a home, not in the way the human word means. This is a home. This bookshop, this rooftop,” he gestures to encompass the two of them “this. So no, I’m not homesick. I suppose I’ve gone a bit native. Are you?”

Aziraphale's chest constricted. Had he just said that? Hopefully Crowley just thinks I'm drunk. Or wasn't listening. Nope, nope, can't say that again.

But Crowley answers without looking at him.

“No, angel. I don’t think I am either” he says in a voice that might have seemed strained and a bit choked up if either of them had acknowledged it. They were of course, trying very hard not to.

Aziraphale looked over, noticing that they were on their third (fourth?) bottle already. He was incredibly tipsy, and noticing all the things he didn’t quite like noticing. Like the way the starlight made Crowley’s hair look like it was fire. Like how his eyes, now free from behind his sunglasses, glowed faintly like the embers of a fire banked for the night. Like how he talked with his hands, flinging symbols into the air. Like how sitting next to him felt like sitting next to the ocean in September. Salt and cool and wind in wave after wave after….

He looks away, flattening the feelings between the pages of his mind. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.  
Upstairs would notice.  
They'd take him up there again.  
And he would be _him_ this time.

And, in a realization that gave him chest pain, _Downstairs_ would notice.

And then Crowley would get dragged down _there_ and they’d hurt him. Keep him.

And he’d have nothing.

* * *

By the end of their fifth bottle, they were well and truly drunk. The realization dawned on them that climbing down a ladder while drunk is not the best idea, and neither of them wanted to sober up.

Aziraphale was just about to say "Should we sleep up here?" Which would have been quite nice, but Crowley just grumbled, took his hand, and pop! they were in his bedroom.

It took Aziraphale a second to process what just happened, and in that time frame Crowley had crashed face first into the nearest bed, clothed in what looked like silk pajamas.

This was a problem, as the bed he had prepared for Crowley was across the room.

He went to shake Crowley's shoulder, but realized that they were still holding hands. Aziraphale tried to let go but Crowley held him fast.

"Crowley. Crowley that's my bed. Yours is over there" Aziraphale pointed fruitlessly. "This is my bed."

Crowley mumbled something into the sheets.

"What was that, dear?"

Crowley moved his head to the side, eyes still closed. "Ssssstay. Don't let go. Don't leave me again. It'sss not fair. Ssssix millennia….ssssix whole fucking millennia…" Crowley begain to snore, still gripping Aziraphale's hand with a surprising amount of strength for a sleeping person.

Aziraphale was puzzled. And shocked. And trying to mentally flinch away from the information he'd just been given. But he didn't let go of Crowley's hand.

Finally, with a sigh, he got onto the bed, forced to cheat himself into his cotton pajamas. Crowley scooted over, mumbling something Aziraphale couldn't hear.

He was tired. Perhaps I deserve a little rest, thought Aziraphale. He closed his eyes.

* * *

Aziraphale woke up from his first nap in thirty years in a bit of a fog, and wondered why he had extra limbs.

Opening his eyes a bit wider, he realized that it was instead Crowley, clinging to him like a barnacle. Crowley's head was nestled on his chest, having somehow gotten under his arm at some point. Crowley's arms encircled Aziraphale's waist, and his long legs were tangled with Aziraphales’ own.

From his higher vantage point, Aziraphale could see the top of Crowley's head, his hair starting to get wavy again. He could see the spot from which the hair radiated outward, and without thinking, leaned forward to kiss it.

However, the movement was stopped short by a commanding knock at the front door. With a start, Aziraphale knew exactly who was here.

Michael.

Aziraphale turned whiter than the sheet. If he didn't answer, Michael would barge in, and find him _quite literally in bed with a demon_.

Shaking Crowley awake and holding a hand over his mouth, Aziraphale carried him into the bathroom, plunked him down on the toilet, turned the water on, and whispered "Be quiet. Michael is here. Let me handle this. Hide."

Aziraphale cheated himself into a bathrobe and turned to go as the knocking grew louder. Crowley caught his hand and squeezed, eyes wide. They looked at each other for a few seconds, and then Aziraphale put his other hand over Crowley's.

"I'll come back, my dear. I promise."

And with that, Aziraphale finally strode out the door, closing it behind him.

"Coming, coming!" Aziraphale called, opening the door as Michael pushed past him.

"What took you so long?" asked Michael with the quiet sterility of a scalpel.

"Oh, um, I was just about to get in the shower, actually", Aziraphale replied.

"You...do that? Disgusting. You really have gone native - such a shame", Michael said, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Humans may not be as powerful or as long lived as you are, Michael, but they are still wonderful beings. Don't call me disgusting. We are beings of love. _LOVE. I love humanity._ I love this Earth. I thought that was the _point_." Aziraphale shot back.

He stood there, trembling, a blush spreading over his cheeks.  
He was done for.

But Michael didn't respond. Stiffly, he handed a large manila envelope to Aziraphale. "These are for your eyes only. A Notice of the Highest Order. I've been advised to leave you alone for a few centuries. Apparently there is going to be some restructuring Upstairs", he said coldly.

Then he was gone.

The manila envelope was sealed with purple wax, an eerily blank thumbprint in the center.  
A message.  
Directly from God.

Before he could tear it open, Crowley called "Angel? Can I come out now?"

"Oh! Oh yes of course. Let me turn the water off," Aziraphale said shakily.

Crowley was standing in the doorway. For a second, Aziraphale could see the same haunted look as before, but that was carefully disguised behind his usual smirking look as he cheated himself dressed.

"What have you got there?" Crowley asked, reaching for the envelope but pulling back as if it burned him.

"Aziraphale, what is that?"

"A message from God, apparently", Aziraphale murmured.

* * *

They settled for sitting at Aziraphale's kitchen table, Crowley sitting across from him.

As Aziraphale opened the envelope, he noticed two things:

There was a letter to him and an envelope addressed to Crowley inside  
Crowley was sitting across from him, in front of the window, and the rising sun made it look like he had a halo again.

Something inside Aziraphale shivered in excitement, but for what he wasn't sure.

"Crowley...this is for _you_." Aziraphale said softly.  
He pushed over the envelope, which looked like it was covered in some kind of plastic.

Crowley was very confused. Being taken off the Mailing List is one of the first things that happens when you become a demon. But he could touch the envelope without being burned, which must mean something.

They both opened the letters at once.

 

Now, an aside. In the Bible, God is said to be everywhere and all knowing. It is also held in that faith that God is made of Love.  
The two of them might have thought they were slick, but there is a reason calling a loved one “angel” is commonplace now. God was practically giggling. All part of Her Plan.

 

_The letters went as thus:_

Aziraphale,

I personally wanted to thank you. I haven't been paying as much attention as I could have, and I believe Heaven has suffered for it. I am thankful that you and your "acquaintance" showed just how wonderful Earth can be. My dear creations have certainly flourished, in ways both good and bad.

I've called back most angels, and told Michael to leave you and your "acquaintance" alone. For a few centuries at least.

Peace,  
God

P.S. You are free to relax, now. I've ordered Crowley's hounds back too - although I cannot be sure how long they'll obey me. Stop calling him an "acquaintance". Both of us know he's been much more than that for millennia. I am _Love_ , you know. Tell him.

*********************

Crowley,

I know you’re surprised that you’re getting this (and hey, you can touch it! Humans call it _lamination_ ) but you shouldn’t be. No matter where you vaguely sauntered (your words, not mine) you are still my child, and I still love you. Did you think I haven’t been watching?

So some real talk - stop beating yourself up. I created you to have choice, and you made one. I can respect that. No matter what people say, there’s still good in you. It’s just the bastard kind. Besides, you’ve always been more mischief than mayhem anyway - I’ve had to wag fingers at your exploits, but I have to admit, some of them gave me a laugh. Thank you for that. (And for saving the Earth, that too.)

I’ve talked to your boss, and he’s “promised” to keep those two dogs at bay - they shouldn’t bother you for a while, or at least as long as his promise counts for. So take some time to love yourself. Stop yelling at your plants. And for My sake, tell Aziraphale how you feel.

YOU DESERVE IT.

Peace,  
God

Ps. Michael has had a stern talking to and everyone should leave Aziraphale alone for quite a while. You two have loads of free time. Relax. Be free.

Pps. The Queen songs aren’t going to stop. Yes, that was me. No, I regret nothing. **Listen** to them at some point, would you? I’m trying to be _educational_.

* * *

Crowley’s letter must have been a bit longer, because when he looked up Aziraphale was looking at him, tears in his eyes and an expression that almost looked pained. Then again, Crowley couldn’t be quite sure what his face was doing either.

“Do you need...a little fresh air? I think I do,” Crowley said softly. Aziraphale only nodded.

They climbed up to the garden again, Crowley stepping up to the springy ground first and extending a hand back to help Aziraphale up. They stood there for a while, in a cocoon of silence, not breaking hands.

Aziraphale moved first, using their joined hands to swing Crowley around and gather him into his arms. Slower and softer this time, one hand on his back and the other sliding up to cradle Crowley’s neck as Aziraphale buried his face into his shoulder. This time, Crowley didn’t freeze, and instead leaned into the embrace, holding Aziraphale’s head against him.

Nothing needed to be said, but Crowley voiced it anyway.

“We’re free.”

They stayed that way, shadows mingling, as the sun finally crested the horizon and shone on their little slice of Eden.

When they finally came apart enough to look at each other, Crowley gently dried the tears on Aziraphale’s cheeks, slender fingers brushing one cheek, then the other. As if to balance out this unusual display of tenderness, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s sunglasses and threw them off the rooftop.

“Hey! Those are - mmf!” Crowley tried to exclaim as Aziraphale turned back to him and brought their mouths together clumsily before pulling apart.

"You hide behind those", Aziraphale scolded. Without the shades, he could see the tears in Crowley's eyes, and reached up to brush them away. He took Crowley’s face in his hands. “Crowley, I have known you for six whole fucking millennia...I _see_ you. All of you. And I love every damned inch of it. I love you, not the swaggering front you put on. Please don’t hide from me, dear. Please.”

 _“Oh”_ , thought Crowley.

 _“Oh, shit”_ , thought Aziraphale, shaking. _"I'm the one going too fast"_ he thought, panicking. But that didn't seem to be the case at all, as a second later Crowley brought their lips together again. Slower this time, with less teeth.

"Oh,'' Crowley exhaled, trembling as they pulled apart once more.

"Was that...was that too fast?" asked Aziraphale.

Crowley just shook his head and sat down on the grass. Aziraphale followed, not wanting to push Crowley to speak.

After a while, Crowley turned and asked, "Do you want to read my letter?"

Aziraphale, who had been already curious, agreed, saying "Sure - let's switch." He flattened his letter on the ground and held it down with some pebbles so Crowley wouldn't have to touch it.

Some time later Aziraphale began giggling, little tiny hiccups of glee that gradually transformed into a loud belly laugh. Crowley looked over, confused.

" _She_ is the one responsible for all the Queen? Ah! That's just too good. She's trying to be _educational_. And, and..mischief! Hahahaha! Oh that describes you perfectly, Crowley." Aziraphale sat up, wiping his eyes.

"Did you..did you read the rest of it?" Crowley asked. Aziraphale's face softened. "Yes, I did. She is right, you know. Did you, um, did you read mine?"

"Yeah", Crowley said. "Has it really been millennia?"

"Yes. Yes it has. Can’t give you a general time period, though.” Aziraphale rubbed the back of his neck, blushing. “It just...happened. Like how you plant a seed without knowing it, and then you look back around and there’s an oak tree. That’s a horrible metaphor but it’s all I got.” Aziraphale turned to him. "Now, I followed the directions in my letter and you haven't.” He folded his letter up again. “Come on, you can't exactly refuse the direct Word of God."

"Well, I kinda can, being a demon and all, that is part of my _modus operandi_.” Crowley grinned for the first time today.

“Crowley.”

“What? I’m just being true to my nature. And besides, can’t you just tell? With your angelic powers or something?”

“Crowley, showing and telling are two different things. They teach that to kindergartners.”

“Oh, psh. I’m not going to stoop to the standard of a being who can’t write their name straight.”

“ _Crowley_. Am I going to have to wring it out of you?”

“I’d like to see you try”, Crowley purred, finally seeming to fit himself back together.

“Ha! There’s the Crowley I love.” Aziraphale grinned back at him, realizing he could just...say that.

Crowley blushed deeply at that and flopped back with his head on Aziraphale’s lap. “Augh, fine! But like, here’s the problem.” Crowley tensed, as if steeling himself. “Look. I’ve been in love with you from the moment I realized you’d given that bloody sword to Adam and Eve. Breaking the rules because you _cared_ so deeply. So yeah, it’s been six fucking millennia. Of wanting. Of waiting. Of working together, dancing that fine line between enemies and certainly-not-enemies. Of hating myself every time I ran because something in me wanted to stay. Just saying ‘I love you’ doesn’t cut it. Or at least it doesn’t for me”, Crowley huffed. He looked up at Aziraphale, who looked thoughtful.

“What, Aziraphale? I followed the rules this time. Aren’t ya proud of me?" Crowley asked.

“Ineffable”, Aziraphale murmured.

“Oh gosh, do you know I never bothered to look up what that means? What does that have to do with this?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale laughed softly. “It describes something too powerful or extreme to be expressed or described in words. I think that fits us well, to be honest.”

Crowley looked up into Aziraphale’s eyes. Shining, tender, the clear beautiful blue of the sky on that First Day.

“Yeah...yeah that works, angel. It really does. I was also thinking about what you said last night...that one works too,” Crowley said, letting his head fall back.

“Which one? I’m afraid we were both quite tipsy.” Aziraphale asked.

“Home...it’s home. You’re home. My home.” Crowley looks up again, meeting Aziraphale’s joyous smile with one of his own.

“So now what?” Aziraphale asked. He began running his fingers through Crowley’s hair, pleased he didn’t have to worry about the impulses to _reach out and touch_ any longer.

Crowley hummed, leaning back into the touch and said, “Well, what do you want to do? We have so much free time now. We can do anything. Or nothing. We’re still us, after all. We’re still going to drive each other crazy.”

“I think...I think I would like to be properly romanced” Aziraphale said, the tips of his ears reddening.

“Oh?” Crowley rolls over onto his belly and props his head in his hands. “Are we switching? Does that mean I should ask to be properly tempted? That would be immensely fun...can you even do that?”

Aziraphale leans down, until they were nose to nose. Staring deep into Crowley’s eyes, he whispered softly, “You underestimate my power, my dear.”

Crowley began to open his mouth when his head snapped up. “WAS THAT A STAR WARS REFERENCE. DID YOU JUST REFERENCE STAR WARS? AND THE VILLIAN NO LESS?”

Aziraphale smiled proudly. “It was! But I did intend to convey the same meaning, though.”

Crowley said, “I’m proud of you! A reference from last century! However, I’m not sure what you can tempt me into doing...I am a demon. I’ve done some shit.”

“Crowley, if I’ve learned anything from you, it’s that temptation doesn’t have to be big. It’s another slice of cake, another loud car in a traffic jam, another five minutes in bed.” He leans closer again. “Besides, can you even be romantic? With little r, remember - although I did enjoy that time period.”

“I certainly can! It can’t be that hard. Is it a deal, then?” Crowley sits up, blushing, to hold his hand out.

“No, my dear, it certainly is not.” Aziraphale grabs Crowley’s hand and instead of shaking it, brings it to his lips for a feather-light kiss, smiling into it as he felt the shiver that ran down Crowley’s arm. He flicks his eyes up to Crowley’s face and his smile grows wider. “It’s an Arrangement.”


	2. In Which Tongues are Tied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One half of the Arrangement complete.  
> In which Crowley can't use his words properly.

It had been a lovely day. Aziraphale felt compelled to open the bookshop today, so Crowley had gone for a walk. It had been a week, and he was still puzzling over how to romance Aziraphale - it seemed like humans romanced each other in order to fall in love, and, well, that had already happened. Crowley vaguely knew that gift-giving was part of it, so what did Aziraphale want?

Well, he knew something Aziraphale always wanted.  
Pastries.

After a pleasant morning of causing some mischief (three traffic jams in the middle of nowhere, two overturned food carts, and one minor rat infestation), Crowley headed...home. He grinned. He would eventually get used to that, but admitting it to himself still made his chest feel all weird and fuzzy.

Stepping through the door, he called out “Angel! I’ve got scones!”

Aziraphale’s head whipped over. “Ooh! I’ll be right there.” He turned to the two people looking around, saying as he shooed them out, “So sorry, folks. I’m closing for lunch. Come back tomorrow?”

One patron turned as she was leaving, saying, “I’ve seen him here before, is he your boyfriend?”

Aziraphale blushed, stammering, “Well, erm, you see, it’s quite…”

“Yes, we are. Now shoo, I brought my love some lunch” Crowley said, walking up to Aziraphale to lean on his shoulder.

“You two are so cute. I’m happy for you, Mr. Fell - you always seemed so lonely”, the patron said walking out the door.

Crowley flipped the sign closed this time, walking back to the table and couches hidden at the back of the shop. “I brought lemon scones, angel. Didn’t you invent those?”

“Well, er, scones in general, yes. And it was more like a little inspiration, I mean the baker just needed a nudge.” Aziraphale stammered out. He sat down on the couch and asked, not looking up, “Is that what we are? Boyfriends?”

“Not really,” replied Crowley. Crowley made Aziraphale scootch over so he could join him on the couch, knees touching. “I really just said it to make sure she left.”

“So what are we then?” Aziraphale asked softly.

“Does that matter to you? I thought ineffable was our word.” Crowley replied, taking the scones out of the bag. “Is that part of the romancing? Giving this a name and having it be Official? I feel like we're doing this backwards - from what I’ve seen, you romance someone to make them fall in love with you, and um, well, it seems like we’ve already passed that point.”

Aziraphale turned to him. “It does matter to me. I want...I want…” Aziraphale looked down at his hands. “I want to go on dates. I want to hold hands in public. I want to be able to express myself without being afraid. I want you to tell me how you feel. I want flowers, and gifts, and, erm, maybe some more kisses if you’re not adverse, and...and…” He looks up again. “I want you to come home to me, to have dinner and tell me about your day so I can scold you about your mischief and we can sit and watch the sunset and when I fall asleep you’ll still be there in the morning. I want you.” Aziraphale blushed. “That’s quite a bit of wanting for an angel.”

"Positively greedy", Crowley said, grinning.

Aziraphale swatted him on the arm. "Oh, stop. I was trying to be serious, Crowley."

Crowley's face softened, a blush rising on his cheeks. "I'm not...I'm not very good at the talking and the feeling and the sharing thing...I mean...I told you already...and...erm...uh…well ok, I mean, um…" He was gesturing vaguely, trying to make it look like he was making a point again.

Crowley sighed, putting his face in his hands.

Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley's shoulder, saying "Crowley, we have the rest of forever to figure this out. If you don't feel comfortable just putting your feelings out there too much, then that's okay."

Crowley raised his head. "Well...I mean...I guess...all right. I mean…" he snapped his fingers.

Suddenly, the back room was positively overflowing with flowers, all colours and types.  
"At least I have good taste when it comes to flowers, don't you agree, angel?" Crowley's smirk was back, as well as his sunglasses.

Aziraphale looked breathlessly around the room. "Oh, Crowley, thank you...they're beautiful." His smile fades as he looks back at the sunglasses, and he reaches over to take them off. There's a pair underneath. And another. And another.

"Honestly, Crowley. No sunglasses. There's no one here to yell at you for feeling. Let go." Aziraphale's head snapped up, looking into the middle distance, his eyes widening as if he just realized something.

Crowley sighed, not noticing the face Aziraphale just made, and took the glasses off, throwing them onto the nearby table. "How am I supposed to know if I've succeeded, anyway? I feel like I'm just going to fail. I am a demon after all. You don't deserve me. I don't deserve to be wanted."

Aziraphale turned on the couch so he could take both of Crowley's hands in his. "Crowley. Was what you said to me yesterday true? Have you truly loved me for six millennia?" he asked.

"Angel, I wouldn't lie to you. Not about that."

"Well, then haven't there been times when you just desperately wanted to tell me, to show me how you felt?" Aziraphale was looking him straight in the eyes, his face beet red. "Haven't there been times when you just felt it so much that you thought you'd explode?"

"Of course - of course I have. How could I have not? I just...pushed those thoughts into a corner of my mind, reminded myself that if I did anything you'd get hurt, told myself that I didn't deserve anything in return, that you couldn't possibly ever return my feelings, and...and ran," Crowley said in a rush.

"Well, I want you to stop doing those things. You no longer need to. You don't need to worry about my safely. You don't need to worry about if I return your feelings. And you do - you do so very much deserve this. If you can't take my word for it, take the word of God Herself," Aziraphale replied, squeezing Crowley's hands. "My dear. I love you. I don't have to worry about saying it anymore. And I want to. I want to tell you that I love you every day for the rest of forever, until the universe crumbles into dust and we are nothing but shadows and starlight. I love you, Crowley. I love you, I love you, I love you."

Aziraphale let out a shaky breath. “I hope...I hope I’m not going too fast. I know I once said that to you, but I am not afraid now, so I’ve been...um...trying to catch up.”

Crowley huffed out a small laugh. "I thought...I thought I was supposed to be the one doing the romancing. Because if that's what your doing, then I am pretty sure it's working. I think I'm dying. Is that what it's supposed to feel like?"

Aziraphale’s smile rivaled the sun. “Yes, Crowley. I believe that’s what it’s supposed to feel like.”

* * *

 

It got easier after that. Framed as doing what he’d always wanted to do, and knowing that Aziraphale _also_ wanted those things, Crowley suddenly had so many ideas.

It started with walks. Walks through the park, going shopping, just taking the air - Crowley would gradually brush their hands together until he worked up the courage to twine his hand in Aziraphale’s. Out of the corner of his eye, the quiet joy he saw made this all worth it.

Aziraphale was beginning to realize that while Crowley wasn’t very good at talking about his feelings, he had been _showing_ it for the last few millennia. A lot of the small things Crowley was doing for him seemed to be just like what they’d always been doing, just...more obvious. Like when they went out to dinner, Crowley didn’t cheat to make the chair pull out on its own - he pulled it out himself and gave Aziraphale’s shoulder a squeeze as he sat before sitting himself. They sat closer when feeding the ducks, knee to knee, Crowley’s arm slung across the bench behind him, finally seeming truly relaxed.

And then there were the touches. All the times in the past where Aziraphale thought that _maybe_ , perhaps if they moved just an _inch_ they’d be touching, holding hands, brushing up against each other - now it seemed like Crowley couldn’t get enough of them. They were still feather-light, as if Crowley was still nervous that he’d scare him.They had so many chances now - dinner dates, movie nights, plays - Crowley had even started to drive Bently 2.0 with one hand so they could hold hands as he drove. Which was actually not the best thing, as Crowley was still speeding, now with _less hands on the wheel._ But Aziraphale couldn’t find it in himself to complain.

* * *

 

They had been having brunch one Saturday, sitting together at a tiny cafe that usually had a three month waiting list, which Crowley broached the subject.

“We’ve been living together for six months, and neither one of us has died yet,” Crowley said a little too lightly.

Aziraphale looked up from his crepes, realizing the gravity of Crowley’s statement. He wasn’t commenting on the fact that Heaven hadn’t visited, but that Hell had kept a _promise_.

Maybe this was all part of Her Plan after all. Or rather, in a thought Aziraphale found pleased him so much more, they were writing their own Plan as they went.

He reached over and took Crowley’s hand, noticing the shiver that ran up his arm. _He’s so sensitive,_ Aziraphale thought, inwardly smiling. He had a plan.

“We should celebrate - do you have any ideas, dear?”

“A few,” Crowley replied, smiling.

That night, after working later than he had really wanted, Aziraphale walked to the back of the shop to find an empty wine glass holding down a note that said, “Meet you upstairs.”  
“Oh dear,” Aziraphale muttered.

Over the next week, Aziraphale opened the door to the upstairs flat to find:

1\. A mountain of illuminated manuscripts that Crowley had most certainly stolen. Crowley had taken it into his mind to wrap them one by one and had only made it through twelve when he was discovered.

2\. Flowers. Flowers everywhere. Growing from the floorboards. Growing from the teapot. Vines of them twining down from the ceiling fan. Crowley was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room with a veritable feast.

3\. Crowley, who had been waiting at the door. After a kiss to the lips, nose, and each eyelid, Aziraphale was led in to find dinner ready and on the table. After, there were scones, which from the shape looked as Crowley had made them.

4\. His standing radio in the middle of the room, softly playing. Crowley extended a hand and led him into the center of the room - now empty of furniture - where they danced for hours. Every dance they had ever learned, and a few that Aziraphale was pretty sure that Crowley had made up. By the end of the evening they were waltzing quietly, Aziraphale’s head on Crowley’s chest.

And his absolute favorite:

5\. Crowley was sprawled on the sofa, tapping away at his phone. He looked up as Aziraphale came in and gave him a stunning grin. Crowley gestured to the cup of tea and Aziraphale’s current book on the side table invitingly, and sat up slightly so that when Aziraphale sat down, his head was on Aziraphale’s lap. “Takeaway’s in the fridge,” Crowley said. “How was your day?”

Aziraphale felt like he was dying. On that fifth day, he pressed a hand over his heart, as if unsure what to do with the tender ache there now that it was no longer contained. Crowley reached up and took that hand, twining their fingers together and bringing it down over his heart. Looking up, golden eyes shining, he asked, “successfully romanced?”

“Oh, _yes._ Yes i am.” Aziraphale whispered. “Please don’t take that as a reason to stop.”

“Never.”


	3. In which tongues are tangled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's smut time.

Aziraphale was pacing. It was funny, he almost never did this. It had been so easy to just find peace when he needed it, to sit still and fold his hands on his lap. But no longer. He felt...well, that was exactly the problem. He felt. He wanted. Oh, he wanted so fiercely. How did humanity deal with this restlessness? The fire in his chest, the prickling on his skin?

He didn’t know what to do with it…until that night a few weeks ago, when he had let it slip it out without thinking. _Let go, Crowley. Let go._ And oh, did he want Crowley to just stop resisting. Just...release the coiled up tension he kept in his jaw, his shoulders, the quiver of his back muscles under Aziraphale’s hands when they kissed. Like he wanted more but was afraid to ask.

It would have made him feel guilty, to want this way - and it certainly had in the past, enough for him to tamp it down as hard as he could, like the bellows of the earth crushing coal into diamonds.

Aziraphale had carried crystals in his chest for so, so long. Had become used to the way they cut him up, sharp and brittle.

But recently, he had pulled them out, piled them onto the table in front of Crowley, just as he had done the same. And in their place, feelings had grown anew, banked embers flaring into fire.

Aziraphale knew that Crowley wanted him back. Had been telling him, in his little non-verbal ways, how he ached and yearned, had held himself back for so long…

Aziraphale had finally caught up. He just needed to make Crowley realize that.  
Fortunately, he had a plan.

* * *

 

Crowley had waited for millennia to start touching Aziraphale like this. Lightly. Lovingly. He had thought it through, how he’d take his time as to not scare Aziraphale off. Tracing patterns on his palm as they held hands, the brushing of shoulders, the light pressing of knees. Holding back, always holding back from what he wanted to do. He didn’t want to scare Aziraphale off, but he was starting to burn with this, to feel like a violin string vibrating without making a sound.

It had been nothing but chaste kisses since the beginning, but Crowley wanted more. Needed more. For...for fuck’s sake he wanted to push Aziraphale against a wall, to kiss his mouth open and run his tongue against his back teeth, to hear Aziraphale _moan_ , to feel him _shudder_ under his hands.

But more than that, in a secret silent place with enough GET OUT signs for a nuclear reactor, was another craving. A very un-demon-like craving.

Crowley wanted to be _touched_. Lust was simple, easy - lust was part of the _job_. But touching, light caresses - the relinquishing of power, to have Aziraphale tell him to lie there, to have Aziraphale to run his fingertips across every plane of his body, for him to trace epics onto his skin - that was something that made Crowley shudder.

He was just too scared to ask.

This mild irritation made Crowley felt guilty, since otherwise living with Aziraphale had been wonderful. The bed Aziraphale had made him was just right, even though it left less room for Aziraphale’s bed (who merely mentioned that he didn’t sleep anyway). Waking up to breakfast being ready, a kiss on each cheek, to come home from mischief and wait for Aziraphale to be done with the day, to watch TV with him until he fell asleep...Crowley sighed. Very domestic for a demon, but he shouldn’t complain. He was otherwise very, very content.

And yet.

* * *

 

Aziraphale might have been oblivious of some things for ages, but he did have some grasp on the powers of observation. He knew Crowley’s tells. How sensitive he was.

And as much as they didn’t talk about it, he had been to Hell.

Aziraphale had experienced - in Crowley’s body no less - how crowded and dark and damp it was. How the rest of them knocked shoulders violently, each fighting for inches of breathing space. How each touch was flinched from. How there was no gentleness. Just contamination.

It was like Heaven, in a (fairly blasphemous, he’d have to admit) but strange way. How there was so much space that you felt strangled by it. So overwhelming that you felt like an ant underneath a microscope. There was no gentleness there either. Just sterility.

It was heartbreaking in a way, the way Crowley touched him. The softness, the slowness. He flinched at the memory of him telling Crowley that he went too fast - as true as it was at the time. Crowley was scared that if he went too fast Aziraphale would bolt, just like he had in the past, or worse, reject him. And he was trying - consciously or not - to tell Aziraphale what he wanted.

So Aziraphale was returning the favor, in a way. To show Crowley that he understood. That he wanted to do for him what he was too afraid to ask.

* * *

It was driving Crowley insane.

Aziraphale was reciprocating.

Just little touches, hands and shoulders and knees, but taking the initiative. Let them linger. Yesterday, he had let his fingers slide between Crowley’s shoulder blades, from one side to the other, as they passed. Right under where his wings were hiding. Crowley had shuddered so violently that he nearly dropped his wine glass.

Aziraphale must not know what he’s doing. How it’s driving him mad.

Or so he thought.

It all came to a head on the Solstice, of all days. Anathema had invited them to a celebration at her new cottage, her first communication since the summer. She had moved in with Newt apparently, and was near Tadfield - to keep an eye on Adam and the rest of Them. Strangely, only one invitation appeared, sliding underneath the bookshop door a few days before. Crowley found it first.

“Hey, angel - the girl who hit me with her bicycle has invited us to a party. How’d she know we moved in together? It’s addressed to Mr. A.J. Crowley & Mr. A.Z. Fell.”

“I haven’t the foggiest, dear. What does it say?” Aziraphale walked over, putting his hands on Crowley’s shoulders and rubbing his thumbs ever so slightly on the base of Crowley’s neck.

Crowley _whined_.

But before he could say anything, Aziraphale took the letter from him to read it, passing by Crowley for him to see Aziraphale’s face.

And notice the smile there. The little indulgent, bastardy smile Aziraphale had on his face whenever he convinced Crowley to do something for him.

 _That bastard_ , Crowley thought. He did know what he was doing! His mind went back to their conversation all those months earlier. Aziraphale had told him not to underestimate him.

Well, _fuck_.

Aziraphale didn’t even mention the absolutely undignified sound Crowley had just made, merely pulling him up and towards the door, saying something about presents and how they needed to beat the rush. He stopped halfway to the door to take Crowley’s sunglasses out of his pocket and placing them on, giving him a peck on the nose as he did so.

He was going to snap, he was going to completely lose control in the middle of the street and...and…

Crowley was going to _devour him_.

* * *

 

They got to Anathema and Newt’s cottage in record time, despite the beginnings of a snowstorm. The boot was loaded with presents, and Crowley had made Aziraphale scramble to hold onto as much of the car as he could...twice. It was going to be a good day.

It was a small celebration, which suited Crowley just fine. As disappointed as it made Crowley, there weren’t many specific rituals other than the ones you’d usually find this time of year - large evergreen tree, the passing around of mulled wine (or cider, for the children), the exchanging of presents…whether or not this was for Aziraphale’s sake or for Adam’s parents he wasn’t sure.

In a very un-demon-like thought, Crowley mused that togetherness was humanity’s default setting, no matter what that meant. He sighed. Aziraphale was making him as soft as he was.

All the same, Crowley was having fun. He wasn’t doing much, drinking mulled wine sprawled on the couch next to Aziraphale. Then again, doing just about that was his preferred activity. The fact that Aziraphale had chosen to sit next to him was new, as was Anathema’s strange look when they sat down. He wasn’t drunk enough yet to ignore it. You know, for the children.

Bah humbug.

But Crowley couldn’t exactly vocalize that, not when Aziraphale seemed so happy. And leaning. Like a slowly melting statue of a man, he was slowly - very slowly - leaning back toward Crowley’s arm and into his side. Crowley, very unsure of what was happening, moved his arm an infinitesimal amount down towards Aziraphale’s shoulders. Slowly - so slowly - he was getting closer to actually _holding_ Aziraphale.

_**Fuck.** _

* * *

 

Aziraphale was nearly beside himself with glee. He was being _held_. The more he drank, the more he relaxed, leaning into Crowley's side. At first Crowley had tensed up, but when Aziraphale looked up in a silent question - Is this okay? - Crowley had smiled, blushing, and gave a small nod, his arm sliding down to stay across Aziraphale's shoulders.

Crowley felt like he was full of bees. There were little touches, and then there was...this. They hadn't slept in the same bed after that one night, but this felt a bit like falling asleep next to Aziraphale. Warm and (as much as he still hated that word) _comfortable_. He was trying very hard to keep a stupid smile off his face, but at this point he was too tipsy to tell if he was succeeding.

He was not.

* * *

 

It was present time. Aziraphale surged off the couch, bustling around to hand out his gifts. Finally, he handed a package to Crowley. “I thought we weren’t doing presents today?” Crowley said. Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow. “Is that why you have my present behind your back?” Aziraphale quipped.

Crowley sighed, blushing a bit. “Here. I promise I didn’t steal it this time.” Crowley said as he handed the package over. Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled. “Go ahead, you first,” he responded. Tearing off the paper, Crowley found a sweater and a scarf that looked to be hollow. “I made them myself,” Aziraphale said proudly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Look at the front.” Crowley turned it around to find a pattern that looked a lot like a huge black snake strangling a Christmas tree, star and all. He couldn’t help but laugh. It was so...Aziraphale. Nerdy. Plush. Warm. He suspected the scarf was actually a snake sweater. Aziraphale would do something like that.

“Go on, put it on!” Aziraphale murmured as he started unwrapping his present. There was an audible gasp as Aziraphale took in the first edition of Paradise Lost. He plopped down next to Crowley and hugged him - well attempted to hug, as Crowley was in the process of putting the sweater on over his jacket. When they came apart, (and Crowley was properly sweatered), Aziraphale kept his arm behind Crowley’s back.

Anathema gave them another strange look, but smiled this time.

* * *

 

After the Them had departed, as they (especially Adam, even after all this time) were still beholden to The Bedtime, it was just the two of them with Anathema and Newt, mainly chatting with Aziraphale while Crowley sat in happy drunk silence.

Finally, Crowley was drunk enough to be curious and asked, "Anathema...why are you looking at ussssss that way. Whatssss wrong? Got sssomething in my teeth?"

Anathema blushed, replying, "Well, erm...your auras changed. In a way that, um, well...usually signifies you've been intimate. Like, _intimate_ intimate. I didn't want to say anything while the kids were here."  
Crowley and Aziraphale looked at each other, confused, before the thought crystallized between them.

The swap.

They had never quite talked about that moment, the...mingling of the two of them before they passed each other to inhabit the other’s body. The knowledge they found there. It had made confessions easier, those months ago, since on a fundamental level, they already knew.

_Oh, it’s you._   
_Hello._   
_Welcome._

It wouldn’t have been possible otherwise.

But absolutely no one could know that. Not even these kind people. And so both Crowley and Aziraphale turned to the pair and responded as one:

“No”  
“Not yet”

Crowley whipped his head around to look at Aziraphale again, but he was just smiling softly at Anathema and Newt. Just as fast, Crowley turned to glare at Anathema, who immediately got the message. She yawned, mentioning to Newt that they should turn in, and that she was so sorry we don’t have a guest room, we’ll see you soon.

The ride home was very short.

* * *

 

 **“YET?”** Crowley hissed as he slammed the door to the flat closed. “And when, exactly were you going to _tell me_? **”**

“Hrmph,” Aziraphale tutted, sobering up. “I wasn’t going to tell you. I was trying to _tempt you_ to _let go_ so you’d ask me. I’ve noticed how sensitive you are. How much you _hold back_. I know I’ve taken six millennia, but I want you to stop that. I want you to let go, Crowley. I am ready. _I want this_.”

“Are you sure, angel?” Crowley said walking up to him. “Because there is no going back after this point. And I don’t...want to get this wrong and lose you again. So please...please let me know if you’re sure. And if you’re not...well then we can just go to sleep and not talk about it.”

Aziraphale reached up to cup Crowley's cheek with one hand. "Yes." He murmured like a prayer. "Yes." Like an exaltation. Aziraphale's hand slid to the back of Crowley's neck, drawing him forward into a kiss. " _Yes._ " Aziraphale said against his mouth - firmly, like a line in the sand.

Like a line crossed.

"Yessss." Crowley hissed softly, pulling them closer together and deepening the kiss.

 _“Fucking finally,”_ Crowley thought, as Aziraphale’s lips parted so Crowley could slide his tongue against his teeth.

“Now angel, you have me all worked up and you still haven’t told me what you want,” Crowley growled, breath ragged as they tore their lips apart briefly.

“But - I thought I was - oh my - well -”

“Tell me, angel. Tell me what to do to you.”

“Well, erm. Um. Well if you would be so kind as to - um - back me up against a wall and snog me senseless? That would be... _nice of you?_ ”

Crowley shoved him against the nearest wall. “I’m not nice. I am, in fact, very, very wicked.” His grin was positively feline.

“Prove it,” Aziraphale breathed, taking Crowley’s sunglasses off.

* * *

 

“Point proven,” Aziraphale gasped, when they finally came up for air. He had already lost his coat, bowtie, and waistcoat, and Crowley was already making quick work of his shirt buttons. Crowley only snickered against his skin, scraping his teeth over Aziraphale’s collarbone, which caused him to make a rather strangled sound that Crowley immediately caught with smiling lips before returning to nibble on Aziraphale’s neck.

“H-how are you do-doing that?” Aziraphale panted.

“Snnake,” Crowley replied, stepping closer to put a thigh between Aziraphale’s legs. He brought their hips together, murmuring “How about you make an Effort, angel, and we can see how wicked I can be.”  
Aziraphale, whose head had been thrown back against the wall as Crowley nipped at his neck, merely closed his eyes to concentrate. “Yessss, angel,” Crowley purred as he got to his knees. “Is thisss okay?” he asked as he slowly unzipped Aziraphale’s trousers.

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathed. “ _Please._ ”

“Yessss,” Crowley echoed.

Aziraphale _whimpered_.  
_Moaned_.  
_Shuddered_.

Crowley _grinned._

“C-c-crowley how are y-y-you - how are you doing that _**f-f-FUCK.**_ ”

“Ssssnake, remember?” Crowley mumbled, his mouth full.

Aziraphale collapsed against the wall, untangling his fingers from Crowley’s hair and readjusting himself.

“That was...for fucks sake that was incredible, Crowley.”

Crowley sat back on his heels, purring “I’m sure I can think of ways you can make it up to me.” He waggled his eyebrows, making Aziraphale puff out a laugh.

“Well, I do have an idea for that, actually…if you’ll indulge me.”


	4. In which tongues trace epics onto skin

“This is not what I expected,” Crowley murmured. 

They were sitting on the bed facing each other, still clothed. But judging by the look in Aziraphale’s eyes, they were exactly where he wanted them to be. Crowley didn’t know whether to be excited or terrified. Neither? Both? Isn’t that what desire was? 

Aziraphale reaches for his hand. “May I?” A nod of assent.  Crowley cannot guess, will not break the silence that stretches between them like a cat, stretching beyond conceived boundaries, stretching just to come back to itself, to wind between them as if this was perfectly natural. 

So silent that Crowley can hear the rasp of Aziraphale’s fingers as he traces lines against his skin, around and around, eldritch glyphs that change too fast to catch, words said from the other room in another language. 

He shudders, wants to breathe in, wants to beg for more, wants to wants to wants to - 

But it is Aziraphale that breaks the silence, cleaving it gently, a warm knife through butter, a tongue against lips. 

“I understand that it can be hard for you to say what you mean. That you are one who _acts_ rather than speaks. That your flat was so sparse because Hell isn’t, because it’s so packed and jostling and rough. I understand that it can be hard to ask. I understand that your skin is so sensitive, that it is all too used to a shove but the brush of fingertips is alien.” 

Aziraphale’s fingers brush against his wrist, etching patterns that could be nothing, could be everything. 

“Letting go has many connotations. It is an unleashing, a refusal, a goodbye. It is the last step  before a long fall.” Crowley flinches, but Aziraphale continues. “Letting go with someone else indicates trust. I trusted you earlier. Trusted that you would not hurt me, that you would stop if I said no.” Aziraphale looks up, blue eyes burning, until Crowley is nothing but ash, nothing but the memory of fire. 

“Do you trust me, Crowley?” 

 _Yes, yes - how could I not, how could I not trust you with everything I am? How else could I see you but as a lighthouse, a beacon in the dark?_ But he cannot say this, cannot break the silence, cannot part his lips. He can only nod. 

Aziraphale smiles, but takes his fingers from Crowley’s wrist. 

Their absence feels like pain. 

“May I?” Aziraphale gestures to Crowley’s jacket. A nod and it is shed, thrown aside.

“May I?” A waistcoat is removed. Fingers brush ribs through shirt all too thin. 

“May I?” His shirt hitches up, cloth wrinkling in question. A nod. A removal. _Let go, let go, let go._

“May I?” Crowley reclines, Aziraphale slots himself between his legs, kneeling. A supplicant.  
  


_If your body is a temple, then what kind of prayers can a lover offer?_

_What kind of incense can they burn?_  
  


“May I?” Aziraphale leans down to press a light, brushing kiss between his collarbones. Fingers brush against skin, creating curves from his angles. Lips follow. 

Crowley finally, finally takes a shuddering breath. 

“May I?” Lips brush, capture, kiss. Slow, oh so slow and gentle. 

Aziraphale rests his forehead on Crowley’s, smiling softly. “Yes?” 

 _“Yes,”_ Crowley breathes. “ _Please. Please don’t stop. Please, Aziraphale, please. I need, I n-need…”_

“Oh, my dearest. What shall I write onto your skin?” Aziraphale whispers. 

_Let go let go let go_

“ _Please. Anything._ **_Anything._ ** _Secrets. Curses in lost languages. Everything ever written. Epics. Fragments. Shards of sentences. Silent laws of the universe. You._ **_You._ ** _Write yourself onto my skin, Aziraphale, please, please I want you I want you I want you to to…”_

Another shuddering breath, edging something like a sob.

_"Us. Write us."_

* * *

   
Crowley was torn asunder, reverent breaths breaking rib cages open, letting the sunlight in. 

Was blooming, petal by petal, unfurling tender leaves in the wake of nature's fury. 

Was reduced to ash, the mere memory of flame, simple motes dancing on an unseen wind.  
  


_Oh, how it burned._

Crowley never wanted it to stop.    
 

Hands skimmed his waist, breath caressed his collarbone. Tracing words, breathing sentences.   
 

_Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns_

_Driven time and again off course, once he plundered_

_The hallowed heights of Troy._ [1]

 

_A serpent neared, a different form of_

_You_

_As I stood in my doubt, courageous act_

_Taking tarnish like worn copper._

_You twisted forms, shared pleasantries_

_Gave me something novel, the first gift of many_

_The assurance that I did right._

_My palms itched for yours, even then._

 

The dips of elbows, the tender space behind the ear.

A kiss for each rib. 

Tongue follows lips follows fingers.   
  


 _Let go let go let go_  

 _Trust me  
_ 

Shuddering breaths caught by tender lips. Breaths shared. 

Odyssey on one palm, Iliad on the other. 

 

_Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilleus_

_And it’s devastation, which put pains thousandfold upon the Achaians,_

_Hurled in their multitudes to the house of Hades strong souls_

_Of heroes, but gave their bodies to be the delicate feasting_

_Of dogs, of all birds, and the will of Zeus was accomplished_

_Since that time when first there stood in division of conflict_

_Atreus’ son the lord of men and brilliant Achilleus._ [2]

 

_The floods were coming_

_A drizzling spit heralding destruction_

_I watched with fear_

_But you_

_You thought of the children_

_Breaking open the heart of me_

_I held back, still firm in my belief_

_But doubts crept in_

 

Tears caught by faithful fingers, dried by eager lips. 

Held, keeping the unmoored from floating out to sea. 

Tracing words, breathing memories. 

 

_Arms and the man I sing, who, forced by Fate,_

_And haughty Juno’s unrelenting hate,_

_Expelled and exiled, left the Trojan shore._ [3]

 

_We met again_

_As I watched in horror_

_Had been commanded to stand down_

_Part of the Plan, they said_

_I asked what you had done_

_And you_

_You said that you gave him a glimpse of the world_

_As if that wasn't a kindness._

 

A kiss to his waist, an eyebrow raised. 

“May I?” 

A nod.

A divestment. 

 _There is nothing on Earth quite like the sweet agony of Surrender.  
_ 

* * *

   
The soft skin behind knees. 

Inner thighs, caressed. 

So many spots hidden from the sun. 

 

_Midway upon the journey of our life_

_I found myself within a forest dark,_

_For the straightforward pathway had been lost._ [4]

 

_For years we danced_

_Back and forth_

_Fed each other lines_

_Following the cues_

_And while there is a certain_

_Pleasure_

_In the dance_

_I am glad_

_Our last lines_

_Will be more Much Ado About Nothing_

_Than Hamlet._

 

Fingertips paint constellations onto skin, patterns of fire.   
  


_Objects with high mass bend spacetime around them; this curve pulls lighter objects toward more massive ones. We have been subject to gravity since the beginning dearest - we could do nothing but come together. Love this massive could do nothing but pull us into orbit._

_All things were created from space dust, and I will love you until we are nothing but dust again._    
  


Breaths shared, one erratic, one calm. The rasp of fingertips, the slightest scrape of manicured nails. 

Gentle hands turning, a face pressed to pillows. 

Soft hands caress shoulder blades sharp enough to cut. Scales rough beneath fingertips, beneath lips, under tongue.  

A kiss to the small of the back, tongue tasting the salt collected there. 

Stories traced onto spine, poems kissed onto the backs of thighs punctuated by muffled sighs. 

 

_When I too long have looked upon your face,_

_Wherein for me a brightness unobscured_

_Save by the mists of brightness has its place,_

_And terrible beauty not to be endured,_

_I turn away reluctant from your light,_

_And stand irresolute, a mind undone,_

_A silly, dazzled thing deprived of sight_

_From having looked too long upon the sun._

_Then is my daily life a narrow room_

_In which a little while, uncertainly,_

_Surrounded by impenetrable gloom,_

_Among familiar things grown strange to me_

_Making my way, I pause, and feel, and hark,_

_Till I become accustomed to the dark._ [5]

 

_I had been tricked, my tender heart_

_Was never meant to spy_

_But greater than the shock of betrayal_

_You_

_Stepped onto consecrated ground_

_Brought danger above our heads,_

_Trusting me_

_To see us through._

_You saved my books_

_For no other reason than for me_

_Oh, my dear_

_I loved you then._

 

A muffled question - _“why? Why take the risk? Why me? What do you see?”_

A kiss up the spine, a whisper in the ear. Hands wander ribs, wander legs, wandering like a happy drunk, like a leaf on the wind. 

"You. I see you. Here, with me."  
 

 _The joy of intimacy is being present.  
_ 

Together is the default setting. 

Intimacy requires hands to reach and hands to hold. 

Nothing would exist if One did not want to become Two.

 

_You: an Achilles' apple_

_Blushing sweet on a high branch_

_At the tip of the tallest tree._

_You escaped those who would pluck_

_your fruit_

_Not that they didn't try. No,_

_They could not forget you_

_Poised beyond their reach._ [6]

 

A flip, eyes meet again.    
  


 _I love you. I love you, dear heart. My heart is yours. My hands are yours. My time, my space, my lips, my very self. Yours. All yours._  

 _Danger may come my way, danger may befall me. Let it come._  

 _For the first time in six millennia, I do not care._  

 _I love you. I want you. I choose you. Us._  

 _I choose us._    
  


Tender fingers wipe sweet tears aside, tilt chins up so that lips can be brought down, brought together. 

Slender arms awaken, reach out, embrace. Pull down, pull in. 

Lips move softly, move slowly, move like they measure time by the lives of stars. 

They have time.   
 

 _Let go.  
_ 

Breaths roughen but hands stay gentle, still mapping constellations as if skin and bone contain directions home.  They do.   
 

_You have always been my North.  
_

“Yes?”  

“ _Yes.”  
_

A white hot heat, slight movement building towards release. 

Breaths shared, breaths hitching 

Hands finding each other, hands tangled, a microcosm.  

Eyes held, eyes unblinking, drawn together, drawn close

Blue yellow blue yellow blue yellow

Together they are the green of earth 

Together they are what they were always drawn to be; 

Gravity cannot be denied. 

There is no Above 

There is no Below

There is only Here, 

Together.   
  


_Let go.  
_

_Be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] The Odyssey, lines 1-3, Homer [trans. Robert Fagles]  
> [2] The Iliad, lines 1-7, Homer [trans. Richmond Lattimore]  
> [3] The Aneid, lines 1-3, Virgil [ed. Cynthia Brantley Johnson]  
> [4] The Divine Comedy, The Inferno, lines 1-3, Dante [trans. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]  
> [5] When I Too Long Have Looked Upon Your Face, Edna St. Vincent Millay  
> [6] Fragment 105(a), Sappho [trans. unknown]
> 
> This is it!  
> This has been immense fun - the first thing I've written in so long. It's been like waking up. 
> 
> I would like to thank crumpetlass, magimatica, and parker for their wonderful patience with me as I yelled in excitement, and for reading my work ahead of time. 
> 
> I would also like to thank the Ineffible Husbands playlist by Seniba42 on Spotify, which has been a constant companion and inspiration through this process.


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